


Getting Pushed

by icedteainthebag



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Masturbation, POV Dana Scully, Phone Sex, Psychic Abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 18:07:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4845236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedteainthebag/pseuds/icedteainthebag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scully gets a phone call from Modell and gets really into the conversation.  Season 5, pre-Kitsunegari.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting Pushed

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from Gossamer; originally published March 9, 2000.
> 
> Well this is my first fic that isn't MSR. I hope people don't go freakin' out on me.

The phone rings.

I'm sitting cross-legged on my bed, wearing a white t-shirt and black panties, a spoonful of Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie frozen yogurt hovering in front of my lips.

I sigh, shifting my eyes down to the cordless phone by my bare knee as it rings again. Dammit. Not *one* afternoon without an interruption. That would be too difficult, wouldn't it?

I push the spoon into my mouth, licking and sucking the chocolate off the cold metal as I pick up the phone. My eyes are still affixed on The Silence of the Lambs--one of my favorite movies for obvious reasons. I hit the talk button with a chocolatey finger and answer with the yogurt still melting on my tongue.

 "Hello?" It's a little jumbled, and I swallow quickly, hoping it's not somebody important. But then again, nobody important would be calling on a Saturday afternoon.

 "It's rude to talk with your mouth full."

 I feel the hairs on the back of my neck tingle and rise at the slight familiarity of the soothing monotone. "What?" I ask, swaying the silver spoon rhythmically in the air before me, held firmly between two slender fingers. I watch the glints of sunlight as they hit the shiny surface of it, glinting off into the corners of my bedroom.

 "What are you eating?"

 I slowly swirl my tongue around my mouth, gathering remnants of chocolate from hidden spaces. It makes a little wet noise as air bubbles squish around; I am embarrassed, and I feel the warm expanse of a self-conscious blush filling my cheeks.

 I hear him breathe, and drop the spoon onto my comforter. Furrowing my brow, I feel uneasy at the way his voice, the slightest sound of his breath, intrigues me.

 "Who are you?" I ask, the strong tone of my voice wavering slightly.

 "You know me."

 "I know I know you." A chill runs up my spine as I desperately try to place this man's identity. So familiar, so soft, so gentle. Not Mulder... not Bill...

 "You do know me, Agent Scully." He is silent once again. I shake my head slightly, thinking hard. So gentle...

 I breathe out slowly, hearing the soft wisp of it as the air hits the phone. "I know."

 "Tell me who I am," he finally says, in the same slow, practiced monotone as before. It's driving me crazy. Fucking crazy. Who the hell is this...

 "Oh my god," I whisper, as a wave of realization hits me like a gentle...

 ...breeze.

 "Tell me who I am."

 I swallow a few times, my mouth dry and bitterly sour, my heart racing. "Modell."

 Robert Modell-"Pusher"-of nearly two years ago, master of mind control, effortlessly driving people to violence as a part of his own twisted game of personal apocalypse. The last time I saw him was in a hospital bed, comatose from an extremely damaging tumor in his brain. I had no idea he'd recovered. But it couldn't be anyone else-any imitation would be obvious. Modell was distinguished, distinctive.

 Is. He *is.*

 My teeth work on the side of my mouth, biting and scraping as I think about his motives for calling me. Why not Mulder? He was always obsessed with Mulder. I think he admired his strength--Mulder, in a way, is much like the warrior Modell always aspired to be.

 But cancer got in his way.

 And maybe that is the connection, the link between the two of us that brought him to call me.

 "Bingo," he replies dully, and I suddenly remember I'm on the phone with him. "What are you watching?"

 "Why..." I start, my eyes fluttering as a sudden relaxing feeling overcomes my body. "Why are you calling me?"

 I know I shouldn't be listening. I know I should hang up the phone, call Mulder, call Skinner, call anyone. But I'm taken by the inflection and intensity of his voice. I know that for some reason, he's controlling me, or at least trying to.

 And I, completely mesmerized, hold the phone tightly to my ear.

 "What are you watching?"

 I open my eyes fully, as if on cue, as if he directed them to do so. I try not to listen, but something inside of me is stirring. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach; a tingling, churning feeling. I can't place it; it's just there. "The Silence of the Lambs."

 He chuckles softly. "Do you identify with Starling, Agent Scully?"

 I gulp, my head tilting to one side as my neck relaxes. I gaze at the screen, my eyes slightly out of focus. "Yes."

 "Why?"

"She's...she's strong. Steadfast. Breaks down only when things are completely unbearable," I explain softly. My voice is almost a whisper. "Intelligent. Not intimidated."

"Pretty."

My heart leaps into my throat. I breathe the word. "Yes."

There is utter stillness on the end of the line and I listen to the peaceful nothingness, anxiously awaiting his next words. He has me hanging onto every one of them, clinging to them. Desperate for them.

"I identify with Lecter," he says, his tone low and soothing. I smile softly. Something about his voice is intensely mysterious, and it's making me... I don't know. I don't know how to feel. I don't know why I'm feeling the way that I'm feeling...

"Why?" I ask quietly, lying back on the bed. The softness of my pillow envelops me, sinking me deeper into the conversation.

"He's misunderstood. He's not afraid to do what he thinks is natural to him." He pauses and I breathe in slowly. "Are you afraid, Agent Scully?"

My breath catches in my throat. "Of what, exactly?"

"Of what is natural to you."

"No."

I lie. I'm lying and he knows it. Lying to someone who can manipulate your mind so easily is pointless.

"Starling is afraid," Modell comments, ignoring my lie for the time being. I close my eyes once again, my hands splaying over my stomach, phone cradled next to my ear. "She's afraid of her feelings. Physical, emotional... sexual. Are you?"

I can't say... I can't tell him... I can't...

"Yes."

"Lecter is in love with Starling...but knows she thinks he is a monster. He questions the possibility that she could ever love him back," he explains gently, proddingly. I feel my stomach churn more.

"She could," I whisper. I lick my lips once, parting them to breathe in a shallow breath. "But would she?"

"She should," is his reply. I am feeling dizzy, strange, but wonderfully aroused in a number of ways. It's lethargically exciting, but fear is like a heartbeat, pounding in my chest, demanding to be acknowledged.

"I'm afraid," I whisper as a small tear trails down my cheek.

I don't know where that came from. I don't know why it's there. I don't know how...

"Stop thinking," he says, demanding but all the while gentle. It is a soft-spoken command that clears my mind of obtrusive questioning.

"I thought...I thought you were sick. I thought you were dying," I whisper, feeling my lip twitch slightly.

"I was. I'm cured, Dana...may I call you Dana?"

Dana? "Yes."

"I'm cured, Dana, through my own will, through my own powers...the one true skill for a warrior to master is the rejection of that which hinders him, that which makes him helpless," he murmurs urgently. "Dana, we are warriors. We have that strength. Together."

I feel a surge of heat as if an electric current is running through me. Up and down, again and again. Not frightening as much as it is stimulating. Not of my mind, but of my body. It's soothing, like slipping into a steaming bath.

"Not 'we'," I whisper. There is no...

"Yes, 'we.' We are together, Dana. You have to look deeper. You have to reach further into your soul. You know what you want; I can feel your desires within you. Can you feel it?"

I raise my eyebrows, eyes still closed, dry lips sticking as they pull apart. My hands run lightly over my stomach and down my sides. I'm making sure I'm still there, still conscious. "I feel it."

I feel it.

"We're connected." His voice is a raspy whisper in my ear, a bit harsh, a bit desperate. I am breathless, speechless. A tingle tickles down my body to my center... and lingers.

"What do you want?" I ask, feeling my eyebrows lower as I relax more.

"Dana, I want what you want," Modell says. "You just have to let yourself enjoy it."

Enjoy it? "Enjoy what?" I answer, my voice surprisingly lower, huskier. I know what he means. But I don't want to give in to what I'm feeling, to what he's making me feel. This rising heat inside of me, well, it's not often that I indulge myself in it. I'm usually forced to ignore it and keep my mind on my work.

"Dana... touch yourself."

Brought back by his words, I gasp slightly, feeling my whole body flush with embarrassment and arousal. "I... I can't do that. I don't do that."

Denial. Just like confession.

"Yes, you do, Dana, and you can," he says calmly. I can hear the timbre of his voice changing, becoming deeper with the immediate change of mood.

"Why... why do you want me to do that?" I whisper, tracing my fingers along the skin that meets the edge of my panties. I'm burning to do it now; a deep desire inside of me drives me to slip a few fingers under the black silk. There's something so secret about touching myself that it seems incredibly deviant to share it with anyone. But curiously erotic at the same time.

"Why are you afraid, Dana?" he asks as my hand drifts along the skin under my panties. I gasp softly as I

hit sensitive spots with my fingertips. "You're aching to go further... I know it. So do it."

I *am* aching for it, literally aching with the need for touch, the need for pleasure. My fingers dip down to the curls between my legs and I cup myself, resting them between my thighs and stroking myself hesitantly. I bite my lip, a hard breath escaping through my nose and echoing through the phone as tingles spread through my abdomen and thighs.

"You're not holding back, are you?"

I don't answer. I can't. He knows I am. I can't speak.

I press my fingers deep between my swollen lips and run them down to my opening, finding myself soaking wet, enough that I blush furiously as I swirl a finger around it. I can hear his breathing now, more than before, in sync with mine as if he's inside me somehow... inside me...

I push two fingers, hard and fast... inside me.

"Can you feel me?" Modell whispers as I moan, feeling the warm softness of my muscles tense around my fingers. "Can you feel me inside you, Dana?"

I begin to move my fingers in and out slowly, writhing my hips, craving more, feeling dirty, almost ashamed at how aroused I am. I stroke the upper wall of my vagina with two curled fingers, up and down... up and down. My clit throbs harder, demanding my attention, so I grind my palm against it and gasp, feeling my whole body quiver.

"You're so hot... so tight... you want me to fuck you faster." His voice is shaking in its softness, but still calm and strangely collected for the situation. I move my fingers faster, in and out, keeping the phone trapped between my ear and my shoulder as my other hand finds my clit to give it a little bit more stimulation. "There you go... are you feeling it now?"

My breath, ragged, intermittent with soft whimpers, is my only answer. Fingers circle the side of my clit as I add a third to those already inside me, moaning as I feel it slightly stretch me.

I feel like I'm going to come soon, like a pot on the verge of boiling and spilling hot liquid everywhere... I can feel it inside me already, the heat and the steam and the tingling build.

So bad... I feel so bad... I'm so...

"Come on, Scully," he whispers urgently, his voice getting more demanding, bringing me to a higher point of arousal. "Come for me. Do it now. Come for me."

"Yeah," I breathe softly between gasps, bringing my knees up and grinding my heels into my bed as I rub hard and fuck myself even harder. "Yeah... I'm gonna..."

I don't know where it's coming from, this voice; it's something, deep and dark, inside of me being released in this strange alternate universe that has become a bit too real.

"Yeah, Scully... yeah." His voice sends me spiraling, and I come with a loud whimper, my breath catching in my throat. And I'm drowning in my breath and in my tingles and in each exhilarating spasm inside as I keep my fingers going, begging my body for more.

And I keep whimpering.

I keep whimpering until he hangs up.


End file.
